Authors: Marc Buhmann
It was still early and David decided to take a small tour of his old town. He had fond memories of the small creek that was the natural border of the town, or more specifically the willow tree that hugged its edge. It was only two blocks away, and assuming it wasn’t flooded this year he could stand for a little exercise to stretch his legs.
The first thing he noticed when he got to Willow Creek was the cobblestone bridge. Even after all this time it hadn’t been replaced. Seeing it was comforting; it was older than him, old even when he was a boy in the 40’s. It looked to have been patched here and there but, overall, had stayed the same.
David parked the Ford, killed the engine, and stepped out. His joints popped as he stretched, a pleasurable feeling. He walked to the side of the bridge and looked down. The creek was at its normal depth and quietly meandered along its rocky bed. He was happy to see the familiar rutted path leading down the embankment. It didn’t look slippery and he figured he’d give it a go. What the hell, right? He slid only once, caught himself, and made it safely to the edge of the creek.
David sat, brushed the dirt from his hands, enjoying the quiet. No traffic, no car horns, no one screaming or yelling. River Bend was indeed a little corner of paradise. But even paradise had its shadows, something he knew all too well. The layer outsiders saw was picture perfect but longtime residents—who lived beneath the fold—knew its secrets and were good at pretending they didn’t exist.
That was every small community.
David looked along the creek to the willow tree in the distance. It glowed in the sunlight, its thin branches stretching to the ground. He fought the tears that sprang to his eyes but they fell anyway. A bright beautiful day, the wind and creek producing a ballad, birds chirping—
“You alright down there, sir?” said a gruff voice.
David looked up. A man in a wrinkly button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up, and khakis, leaned on the bridge with his hands.
He wiped the tears on his sleeve, waved up. “Fine, fine. Thank you.”
“Curiosity got the best of me, I guess. Wanted to make sure you hadn’t stalled. You alright to get back up?”
David glanced at the path and shrugged. “I think so.”
“Alright then. Have a nice afternoon.”
“You too.”
The man disappeared from the edge of the bridge. David went back to staring at the creek.
“You sure?” the voice floated.
David looked back up, mildly annoyed at the man leaning on the bridge. “Pretty sure.”
“Okay. As long as you’re sure. Because I can wait, if you’d like.”
“No. That’s okay. Thank you for the offer though.”
“Sure thing.” The man disappeared.
A minute later David heard footsteps. He didn’t look up; he knew who it was. The man sat down next to him and offered his hand. “Nick Stavic.”
David took it, a firm handshake. “David Rottingham.”
“Welcome, David. I know a lot of people in River Bend but don’t think I’ve seen you before. You new here?”
“Visiting. Lived here a long time ago. Thought I’d pay it a visit before I couldn’t anymore.”
“Explains the out of state plates. How long ago, if you don’t mind me asking?”
David shrugged. “Twenty or so years. I decided it was time to see the world.”
“Retirement gift to yourself?”
“Something like that.”
“See some good sites?”
“Many.”
“I’ve never been much of a world traveler myself. I was raised in Chicago.”
“Chicago? You’re a long ways from there. Why the move?”
“Too big. I was a cop and saw a lot of crazy shit, pardon my language. Decided one day I’d had enough. Took a road trip and stumbled upon this corner of the north woods. That’s the short version.”
“Why River Bend?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out,” Stavic said with a grin.
David took his meaning. “Sort of the same reason I’m back. My wife passed, part of the reason I decided to leave, but the last several months I’ve been thinking of this place. Not sure if it’s my time yet, but my wife is buried here. Figured that when I go I’d like to be near her.”
“Where you staying?”
“Green Forest. Can you tell me… does Shelly Lynch still run it?”
“Shelly? No. She retired a while back. Her daughter runs it now. Amber.”
David remembered Amber. Cute little girl with ponytails back in the day.
“Well, David,” Stavic said as he stood. “I have to be getting to work. You sure you’re okay to get back up there? I don’t mind helping.”
The moment gone, the emotions fading, David stood. “Sure. I’d appreciate it.”
* * *
Claire sat slouched in the passenger seat staring vacantly out the window as Emily drove. The stranger she saw in those eyes while at the hospital was absent. It must have been her imagination. The day was clear with only a few clouds hovering in the sky. It looked warm out, but the autumn winds made a light jacket a necessity.
Her doctor had forced her to stay overnight—just as a precaution, he’d said—and with some coaxing from Emily she’d begrudgingly agreed. She wouldn’t admit it to them but it was the right call. She didn’t dream, and she did feel better, the soreness she’d felt yesterday had subsided substantially.
Emily had tried talking to her about what had happened. She knew Emily was convinced it had been intentional, regardless of how much she denied it, and was tired of going in circles. Finally, she just decided to stay quiet.
“Take a left at the light,” she instructed Emily.
“Why?”
“I just want to.” There was more to it than that, but she’d never admit it to Emily. What she was really doing was avoiding a conversation she knew was awaiting her when they got home.
Claire had begun to have trouble sleeping the last few weeks. Dreams of her adulterating husband plagued her, some good but mostly bad. She relived his betrayal, the night she confronted him, the accident, his abandonment… Not wanting to continually see his face she’d started to drink.
When she and her ex-husband had learned she was pregnant they thought it best to move away from the congestion and crime of a big city. Claire had lived in River Bend for several years as a child and had fond memories of it and the nice couple who treated her like their own. It was home once, why not again? They spent the weekend visiting and exploring, and by the end that was all they needed and agreed this is where they should settle down.
Emily turned left down 6th Street. Small shops passed by, many of which had stayed within families for generations. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire sensed Emily’s glance and ignored it. She stared out the window as the town fell behind giving way to golden fields of wheat and browning corn stalks.
Claire had acquaintances but no one she was close to. Moving around a lot as a child had taught her becoming attached to anyone was just cause for heartache. Then Devon had come into her life, and she thought she’d finally be able to settle down, to have those attachments everyone else around her took for granted.
How silly she’d been, trusting him.
One thing her parents instilled in her was self-reliance, and she’d managed to secure a job within a few months of Devon leaving. At least he’d left her the house.
She reclined her seat and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun caress her face.
Just a few minutes,
she told herself.
Just a few minutes to rest my eyes.
Claire was asleep seconds later.
* * *
Willem rode shotgun while his partner yammered on about… what? Willem couldn’t say. He’d tuned out five blocks back when Justin started talking about his last night’s hookup. They were headed back to the firehouse after transporting an elderly woman who’d suffered a heart attack to the hospital.
Either Justin hadn’t realized he’d stopped listening or didn’t care, but he was content telling his story to no one. It wasn’t that Willem wasn’t interested in the stories of sex and drugs—he was—but something felt
off
. There was something in the air, and he was on edge.
Justin was nearly three decades younger than Willem’s sixty-four, part of the reason Willem found his stories interesting. Willem had never married and never had children. He got to live a young man’s life vicariously through Justin. While he was sure Justin would have preferred someone closer to his age for a partner, Willem felt younger because of it.
While most men in their thirties were trying to settle down, Justin was the opposite. He showed no signs or interest in slowing down his nightlife style. He loved women—apparently all types from the stories told—and the idea of settling down with just one scared the hell out of him. And why not? He was a handsome man, fit, why not milk it as long as possible? Willem, on the other hand, had always wanted a woman to fall in love with, someone to have children with, grow old with. It seemed that was not in the cards. They say there is someone out there for everyone, but if true then where was his someone? The world was a damn big place, and Willem was not a world traveler, so if she was sitting in a Siberian tavern somewhere he was screwed.
Justin slowed to a stop as the light went from yellow to red. He was still talking about last night when a white pickup truck drove past.
“—she was using her…
holy shit!”
Justin bellowed. Willem watched the pickup swerve, narrowly missing a man crossing the road. A sedan in the right of way slammed on the brakes, the woman behind the wheel laying on the horn. The truck swerved again. It was almost through the intersection when a city bus plowed into it, the impact a thunderclap of twisting metal and breaking glass. The pickup spun twice and flipped to its side before coming to lean on the edge sidewalk. A stuck car horn blared.
Willem grabbed the CB and called dispatch. Justin turned the van emergency lights on and drove the short distance to the accident. Willem hopped out before the ambulance came to a full stop. He glanced at the bus as he ran past. Through the spider web of glass he saw the bus driver talking to the passengers; no one on the bus appeared to be injured. He raced past the sedan, the horrified driver had a hand to her forehead as she stood.
“You alright?” asked Willem as he passed. She nodded.
The driver of the pickup came into view as Willem rounded the crumpled front of the truck. The airbag had done little to stop the unbuckled man from being tossed about the cab. He now lay in a tangled mess on the passenger side, unconscious or dead Willem could not say, arm pinned beneath the truck through the open window. Willem banged on the windshield.
“Hey! Sir!” he yelled over the blaring horn. “Wakeup! Sir?” The driver, a man in his mid-twenties, didn’t stir.
A pedestrian in a gray suit ran up. “Is he alright? Do you need help?”
Willem gave the guy a cursory glance as Justin approached. “Please stand back, sir,” was all he managed before Justin crouched next to him, dropping a medical bag. To his partner, he said, “Unconscious. Looks like he’s pinned.”
“We won’t be able to do anything if we don’t get this truck flipped,” replied Justin.
Willem looked at the man in the suit who was now on his cell. “Hey! Come here!”
“Gotta go!” Suit jammed his phone in his pocket and ran over.
“What’s your name?”
“Jim.” His voice quivered with adrenaline.
“We have to flip the truck Jim. Can you help?”
“Flip? How?” He looked tense and on edge.
“We push it.”
Willem stepped to the middle, Justin the hood, Suit took the trunk. Willem looked to each man. “Okay. On the count of three.” He paused, readying himself against the car, “One.” He glanced at Justin who was watching him intently. “Two.” Justin gave him a nod.
“Three!”
The three men pushed into the pickup, straining their shoulders, putting everything they had into it flipping it. Two men who had been on the sidelines gawking ran over, throwing their weight into the truck too.
The truck tilted. Jim’s penny-loafered foot slipped on the pavement, but he regained his balance quickly. “Keep pushing!” Justin grunted through gritted teeth. The car began to tilt as more pedestrians collected like insects to a light. “We’re almost there!”
The unconscious man’s unnaturally twisted arm dangled from the window opening. It was covered in blood from a large cut across the bicep. Drops of crimson hit the pavement as distant sirens echoed through the air.
Gravity took over and pulled the car down with a solid
thunk
, broken glass falling away. Willem reached through the window and felt for a pulse as Justin opened his bag. For a few short seconds Willem feared the man dead, but then he felt a weak but stable heartbeat. “Got a pulse,” he told his partner who was putting a stethoscope in his ears.
Justin pressed the stethoscope bell to the man’s chest. Seconds ticked by. “Respiration is good,” he said as he draped the stethoscope over his neck. Justin dug in his bag and pulled out gauze and handed it to Willem then raced back to the ambulance.